“Charley says they won’t,” quoth Sergeant Butler, nodding toward the scout.
Charley was sitting in the barracks room, taking things easy, by the stove.
“No, they won’t,” he asserted, calmly. “Why should they? They’re on their own grounds, guaranteed to them by the Government, where they can live and hunt. What’s more, half the Sioux nation will be joining ’em. I’ve got a heap o’ respect for Sitting Bull. He’s the biggest power in the Sioux nation to-day, though he isn’t a chief.”
“Do you know him, Charley?” asked Ned.
“Yes, I know him. He’s a short, heavy-set Injun, with a broad homely mug, and brown hair and light complexion pock-marked up. Only Injun I ever saw having brown hair. His Sioux name is Ta-tan-kah-yo-tan-kah. He’s an Unkpapa, and his name as a boy was Jumping Badger, until he counted a coup on a Crow carcass and took his father’s name. He’s not a chief, or son of a chief except a subchief, but he’s the smartest Sioux living. The war chiefs don’t think much of him. His specialty is making medicine and guessing at what’ll happen. He’s a good guesser, too. And he sure can read human character.”
“Won’t he fight?”
“Oh, he’s done some fighting, Injun fashion. Up at Buford (Fort Buford) they’ve got an old roster of the Thirty-first Infantry, that belonged to Sitting Bull and that another Injun stole from him. He’d pictured it full of himself and his killings and stealings. So he’s been a warrior; but among the other Injuns he ranks as big medicine and not as a man like Crazy Horse or Gall or Red Cloud; except that he hates the whites and always will, I reckon.”
“Do you know Crazy Horse, too, Charley?”
“Yes, I know Crazy Horse. He’s an Oglala Sioux, but his band are mostly northern Cheyennes. Crazy Horse is a fighter, all right. You can bet on that. Chief Gall is their general, though. Next to him is Crow King. If we have a fight, it will be Gall and Crow King and Crazy Horse doing the planning, and Sitting Bull doing the prophesying, urging ’em on.”